Hey, Marco
by Pinkie Tuscadaro
Summary: The beginning of the Dylan and Marco relationship, first person Dylan point of view.


He was younger, not by much, not really. He was Paige's age. I couldn't help but smile when I saw him, the dark dark eyes, jet black hair, perfect tan skin, worried expression. He was going through it. I knew. It wasn't easy being gay despite the fact that it was more accepted. It was more accepted. There were still the people in our parents' generation and our grandparents' generation who could barely speak about it, never mind accept it.

And people in our generation. They didn't universally accept it. And in a way how could you blame them? I didn't accept it myself at first. Didn't accept it in myself at first. It took a while to love myself and not be ashamed of my desires. I was beyond Marco in this process.

Still, I liked him. He was absolutely gorgeous but he was also…kind? A really good person, he was. He was compassionate. Considerate. Caring. All the good "C" words. I'd watch him hurry through the halls, the vague look of worry on his face and then it would clear and he'd smile at his friends. It was an act, a little bit. I remember that act. Pretending to be fine while you struggle with this crumbling sense of who you are and who you should be. It's not easy watching your friends lose their minds over girls and realize you don't get it. That's not how you lose your mind. And you notice their deepening voices and muscles that move so tantalizing beneath their shirts and you can smell their cologne and imagine kissing them and these are your friends!

I smiled, shook my head. He was going through it alright. I wanted him, too. He was attracted to me, I could tell. But I didn't want to push him. Didn't want him to jump into anything he wasn't exactly ready for. It was a delicate process, in a way. Being gay was different from being straight, it wasn't the same easy headlong rush into relationships. There were so many factors. Maybe someday it wouldn't be this complicated. We were making strides all the time. The pride was real.

I smiled, seeing him at his locker. I could go over and say hi. That's not really pushing things. And I was interested and I'd have something with him. I knew that. I just didn't want to…spoil it.

"Hey, Marco," I said, leaning against the locker. He looked at me with wide panicked eyes. But panicked in a good way.

"Uh, oh, hey. Hi, Dylan," Yep. I heard it in the way he said my name, that little love sick twist. Licked my lips, stared into his eyes for a second. He loosened up a bit for a second, smiled a real smile and stared into my eyes. How I could just kiss him right now! But no. Patience. Pacing. Practice. The difficult "P" words.

"I'll see you later," I said slowly, all the promise I could get packed into those four words and he got it, closed his eyes for longer than a blink. I saw how the jet black eyelashes rested on his cheeks when his eyes were shut. I noticed the way his hair gleamed because it was so dark.

Walking away, strutting really like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. He'd be mine. There was no doubt. I saw Paige at her locker and she smiled at me, did her little wave and I stopped, ruffled her hair, smiled wide.

"Hey!" she protested, pushing away and looking annoyed, but then she smiled, "someone's happy," she pointed out.

"Yep," I said, and glanced back toward Marco. She nodded approvingly.

"Good choice," she said, the Paige stamp of approval. Not that I needed it, but it was always nice to have.

It was funny with the gay thing. Approval seemed to come in decades, in generations. I knew about the airtight closets of the 40's and 50's, the sham marriages, the secret lives. Maybe it was exciting in a way. But I couldn't imagine having that part of you always in the dark, turning that false face to the world. What must that have done to those people, to their sense of who they were and what they were worth? And what did the gay kids do in those days? The kids like Marco with the beginning of a sense that they were different from most of their friends? Who did they look to? I shuddered. It must have been so absolutely cold and lonely.

Even in the 90's it wasn't all that common for kids to be out as early as high school. It still brought with it far more shock than it did today, and that was just the last decade. And AIDS. The plague that tried to destroy everything, but it didn't. Somehow it didn't.

Marco. Beautiful Italian boy, and I could just imagine that first kiss. Hesitant and scary and awesome, sweet and intoxicating. But I had to remember to take it slow. To move at a pace that was good for him, to let him catch up a bit.

"Watch it, faggot," Jolted from my sweet fantasies, I saw Jay pass by, glaring at me but kind of laughing, too. I held my tongue. I wouldn't even say anything, I wouldn't go and shove him and punch him like I was tempted to do. Turning the other cheek. It was his hang-up, his negativity. It was his to own. I had to remember that. But it was just so hard to turn the other cheek.


End file.
